Panthera Leo
by TraceyI
Summary: He would do anything to please her.  Rated M.  AU.  Oneshot.


A syllogism: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. I am not J.K. Rowling. Therefore, I do not own Harry Potter.

Rated M.

_Panthera Leo_

By TraceyI

She reclined against the sole corner of the fainting couch. He was on a cushion on the floor beside her head, his back ramrod straight, his shoulders back, displaying his muscular chest and arms to their best advantage and offsetting the jeweled collar at his throat, his long, graceful fingers a slim counterpoint to the toned thighs on which they lay as he sat on his haunches.

He licked the back of his hand and brushed it against his forehead, shaking his glorious mane of long, white-blond hair away from his face. She reached out her hand and began languidly stroking his scalp through his hair, making him close his eyes and purr when she reached his widow's peak. His eyes still closed, he moved his head against her hand, forcing her fingers to slide down his face toward his mouth. He bared his pearly white teeth and rubbed them against her index finger, not once making a move to part his teeth.

She let her hand drop to the side of the fainting couch and sighed an exaggerated sigh, tilting her head from side to side to stretch her sore neck.

"Do you wish me to give you a massage, Mistress?" he asked, gazing up at her in abject adoration.

"That would be lovely, Pet," she assented readily. "The Minister has been working me terribly hard lately, and I'm tired and stiff."

"You know I live only to serve you, Mistress," he avowed as he rose gracefully to his feet and moved behind the head of the couch, against which she had shifted. He placed the index and middle fingers of both hands on the pressure points halfway between her neck and her shoulders and leaned forward with all his weight. The tension ebbed from her shoulders as he expertly kneaded her flesh through the fine silk of her red robe, embroidered with a golden Chinese lion that bore quite a striking resemblance to him. A soft moan of satisfaction slipped from her lips, and he beamed with pride.

"Lie face down, Mistress," he leaned over and whispered seductively in her ear. "Stretch all the way out, with your fingers reaching as far as you can toward the head." He caught the tie of her robe in his fingers and pulled it with his teeth as she moved to comply, opening herself to his ravenous gaze. He eased the soft fabric over her shoulders and dropped it to the floor, leaving her completely naked. "I worship you, Mistress," he stated simply, rapturously.

He started with her fingers, massaging each joint thoroughly before moving up her arms to her shoulders and neck, then he gave her a scalp massage that left her tingling before moving further along her back. When he could reach no more with both feet on the ground, he brought one knee, then the other, to rest on the head of the fainting couch, his expert fingers still working their magic as they made their way along her back. Maintaining a lithe, catlike balance that never put too much pressure on any part of her body, he slid his entire form along hers as he worked, until at last he was completely covering her. Both lay face down, his legs above her arms and his arms above her legs. His toes raked up and down her arms, left, right, left, right. His fingers massaged her toes, the balls of her feet, her calves, and her thighs, each in its excruciatingly thorough turn. He rocked his entire torso up and down, back and forth, across her back, effectively giving her a full-body massage. She could feel the hard length of him against the side of her head and her shoulder.

As he contorted himself above her, he began licking her lower back, upper thighs, and backside with long, catlike strokes of his tongue whenever the torsion of his body would allow. Between his massage and his tongue, the feeling was exquisite.

"Mmm, that's very good, Pet," she said quietly.

"Thank you, Mistress," he responded with conviction. "I live to bring you pleasure."

After more than an hour of this treatment, every inch of her flesh was alive and tingling. He paused with his face poised over his hands as he massaged the clefts where her buttocks met the tops her thighs. He dipped his head and took a long, deep breath.

"Mistress, the perfume of your arousal is intoxicating," he murmured. "I beg you, give me permission to savor the taste of your ambrosia."

Another exaggerated, bored sigh. "Well, if you insist."

In an instant, he had pulled his cushion from the floor and positioned it under her belly, lifting her arse high in the air. Grabbing both her feet with his hands, he once again aligned his arms with her legs and bent his elbows behind her knees, forcing her knees up toward the center of her body but away from each other. He moved forward to give himself better access as he descended upon her, spread open for him, lapping like a thirsty lion at a desert oasis. He licked and teased voraciously with his tongue, nuzzling her with his nose as he rolled his arms back and forth, rapidly rolling her thighs in and out along with them. An occasional growl rolled from the back of his throat.

She abandoned herself completely to the feeling of him between her legs, only just remembering to turn her head to the side or lift her head to breathe. He varied the tempo like a maestro conducting a symphony, working her to the very frenzied edge and slowing down again, and again, and again. When he finally gave her her release, she screamed into the cushion and allowed the spasms to wrack her body for what seemed a very, very long time.

He moved off her, returning to a kneeling position on the floor and pulling his cushion out from under her, laying his head on it on the couch so he could look at her. She turned on her side to catch her breath, her fingers running through his beautiful, soft mane. He closed his eyes and purred.

Finally, he spoke softly, his eyes still averted. "Mistress, my desire for you is so overwhelming that it is painful. Please give me permission to gaze upon your glorious form and relieve myself." He opened his eyes, keeping them downcast, and moved to an upright kneeling position, reaching for the ties on the soft piece of leather that was the only thing covering him.

"Oh, Pet," she sighed, her fingers scratching behind one of his ears and making his breath hitch in his chest. "I'll tell you what. If you give me two more as good as that one, and you ask nicely, I might, MIGHT, let you have me."

"Oh, thank you, Mistress!" he cried out, grabbing her legs and swinging them off the side of the couch, planting them on the floor before prostrating himself between them. He began kissing her feet, sucking each toe into his mouth without lifting it from the ground, planting kisses on the tops of each foot, then, concentrating his attention on her right foot, he nipped at her ankle bone and layered feathery kisses all the way up her calf, behind her knee, and up the inside of her thigh, whispering all the time as she ran her fingers through his hair. "I adore you, Mistress." "I live for nothing else but to serve you, to please you, to pleasure you, Mistress." "You are the most beautiful witch in the world, Mistress." "You make me mad with my desire for you, Mistress."

These avowals of worship, accompanied by soft, reverent kisses, were very sweet, and she lay back to relax and let him express his adulation. She expected him to switch to the other foot when he reached the apex of her thighs and start again with a new ascent, accompanied by new quiet professions of devotion, and was therefore completely unprepared when he impaled her on two fingers, which he pumped into her furiously as he engulfed her engorged bundle of nerves with his entire mouth. Before she had even registered what he was doing, her entire body was quivering with a second powerful orgasm, which lasted for several times as long as it had taken him to give her.

When she regained her breath and her senses, she realized that he was lying on his back on the fainting couch, his legs hanging off the far end, bent at the knees, with his feet on the floor. He was nuzzling her naked thigh with the top and side of his head, the baby-soft hair sending electricity through her sensitized skin. From her seated vantage point, she could see his enormous manhood straining against the leather loincloth.

"Please, Mistress?"

Obligingly, she smiled and rose to her knees on the fainting couch, moving until she knelt with a knee on either side of his face, and then she lowered herself onto his waiting mouth. Another growl rumbled in his throat as she ground herself onto his face. He reached up with both hands and grabbed her bottom, his fingers kneading the soft flesh of her thighs and backside as his thumbs chased each other back and forth through her slick folds, occasionally skating around and teasing the puckered ring of muscle at the back or plunging forcefully into the hot, moist cavern toward the front. He devoured her as though he was starving, and it wasn't long before she was bucking and screaming her third release.

She pitched forward on the fainting couch, panting for a few minutes before turning over to find him kneeling on the couch by her legs, his loincloth undone as he stroked himself and gazed down at her with naked hunger.

"Have I pleased you, Mistress? Have I earned my reward? I beg you, Mistress. Please."

With a soft chuckle, she raised one leg in the air and, with toes pointed, drew her foot down the side of his head, over his shoulder, and down his back before finally wrapping it around his waist to draw him toward her. "Yes, Pet."

With a full-throated growl, he positioned himself between her legs and pulled her thighs toward him with all his might, thrusting his way home, throwing his head back with a mighty roar before falling forward and planting his hands on either side of her head.

"I love you, Mistress," he panted. "I want to please you again and again and again and again." His stamina and control were impressive, and she knew that, despite how much he wanted to empty himself inside her, he could go on plowing into her body for quite some time.

He tilted his head down and laved one nipple, then the other, to pert points with practiced flicks of his tongue before pushing himself back up onto his knees, never stopping the frantic pumping of his hips.

He reached behind him and grasped her feet, pulling them away from his back and around to his front, changing position every few minutes. First he placed her feet together, pointing straight up at the ceiling, as he licked the soles of her feet. Then he moved her legs up and down, alternating between left and right. This caused her pelvis to roll from side to side, and he rocked inside her against her G-spot from side to side, bringing her to yet another wrenching orgasm.

While she was still quaking, he moved both of her knees together and bent them, turning the lower half of her body so that her shoulders remained flat on the fainting couch but her knees were pointing to the side, allowing him to enter her at a ninety degree angle from the usual.

After several minutes of this unique sensation, she looked up to see in his face the look that said he could not hold on much longer, and, wanting to join her beautiful Pet, she pulled her knees back up, rolled flat on her back, and locked her legs around his waist.

"Are you with me, Mistress?" he begged. He reached between her legs and massaged her with his thumb for extra added assurance.

"Yes, Pet," she responded. "Oh gods, Pet. Yes! There, Pet! There! Faster, Pet! Oh gods. Oh gods, Malfoy. Yes! Faster! Harder, Draco! Oh, Malfoy! Yes!"

Her head thrown back and her eyes closed, on the brink of ecstasy, it took her a moment to register that his movements had ceased mid-thrust. She realized too late what she had said, and what she saw when she opened her eyes confirmed it. Gone was the glazed, vacant stare of adoration, the spell broken by her utterance of his given name and surname. In its place was seething anger.

"What the fuck?" he bellowed. "Granger, let me go!"

He tried to pull away, but two things prevented him: the steel-like grip of her muscular legs around his waist, and the very real steel of the chain that attached his collar to the leg of the fainting couch. She grabbed the chain with one hand and yanked, dragging his face toward hers.

"No."

He tried another tactic. "Granger," he whispered hoarsely, "Hermione, please let me go. Imagine what my parents must be going through. They think I'm dead." The tears that fell on her face were real, both from raw emotion and from the twist of the chain and collar on his throat.

With a beatific smile, she shook her head. "I'm sorry, Pet," she said, reaching her other hand down the side of the fainting couch to the pocket. "You have not fully atoned for your sins to the lions of Gryffindor." Her fingers found what they sought, and she raised her wand.

_"Imperio." _


End file.
